


A Start

by Desdimonda



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, One Shot, Ryder likes to midnight cook, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 20:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10473192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: Jaal sees Ryder cooking in the galley at 3am, and finds more than he expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for self harm scars and drug use mention. 
> 
> Also - I've barely started romancing Jaal, and I am making it all up as I go along. I work a lot and I don't want to rush my first play though. <3

Desdemona scratched her head, staring at the datapad, crumbs littering the screen as she flicked her gaze between the brightly coloured contents of her pot, and the picture of what she should  _ actually _ have on the datapad.

“Oh shit. I poured in paprika, not pepper. What the fuck you idiot,” she said, her words bouncing off the small galley walls as she pushed the pot off the stove and turned it off, picking up the small tub of paprika and staring at it as if it had done her a disservice. “I suppose that’s what I get for 3am cooking. Again.”

The tub clattered against the worktop and she sighed, wearily, running thin fingers through her hair as she scratched nails against scalp, the heady aroma of paprika it’s last insult to her mistake. It was also hot in here; stuffy and uncomfortable. Desdi paused before she pushed up the sleeves of her hoody, baring the thick, white scars peppered over her skin and in the nook of her elbow, the etches of needle marks - a reminder of her past, of years - of  _ everything _ \- she had left behind in the Milky Way for this damned escapade. Everyone else was asleep weren’t they?

“Is this a common occurrence within your people?” came the smooth drawl of Jaal behind her.

Apparently _ not _ .

Desdi took in a sharp breath as she turned around, surprised that she hadn’t even heard or  _ felt  _ Jaal approach. Usually SAM would have been her awareness, when hers was dampened. But she and SAM had come to an agreement; he would leave her alone, at night. At downtime like this. Desdi felt SAM quiver on return, at the rise of her heartbeat, but she silently gave him a  _ ‘No’  _ and he kept silent.

“Cooking alone, in the dark?” he asked, leaning against the galley’s entrance, eyes heavy lidded, mouth turned in a half smile.

Desdi scratched her messy blue hair again and leaned against the counter, admitting defeat against her 3am dinner. 

“I can’t sleep. And when I can’t sleep, I usually cook. But apparently tonight, I can’t cook,” she said, side eyeing the pot of bright red contents that had meant to be a broth,  _ without  _ paprika. 

“I meditate when I can’t sleep; read; what’s the word you use….” he said, walking forward slowly, the dim light of the galley giving him an almost ethereal hue to his skin. “Ah yes. I  _ tinker _ with my rifle and equipment. The motions, the thinking, is soothing.”

Desdi smirked, scratching her arm, idly, running her fingers over the ridges, the bumps, the scars. “I drink. But I’m trying not to...drink too much. I like reading, too.”

“I noticed. You chew your fingers when you read,” said Jaal as he approached, his gaze watching the motion of her hand; seeing the light reflect of her arms; scarred, worn, wounded.

_ Shit _ . Desdi tried to push down her sleeve when she noticed where his eyes watched. But it was too late. Gently, he approached, a cool hand cradling her arm as he pushed back her sleeve, touching timidly, carefully, as if the scars might break; fall; beneath his hand. 

Desdi looked away - but she didn’t pull away.

Jaal drew the back of his hand over her arm, the rough ridge of his knuckles, feeling. Desdi could hear him breathe; she could almost  _ feel  _ his emotions like an aura, coiling around his skin, brushing against hers as they touched. 

It was always so  _ intense  _ when they touched. It made her skin, shiver; it made her hearing, dampen, to all but him, for that moment. And now, was no different. 

“What creature inflicted these wounds?” he asked, searching, seeking her gaze, knowing her eyes could almost give him an answer, if her words could not. 

But she didn’t look, she continued to stare at that damned pot of paprika  _ stuff.  _

“Me.”

Desdi kept staring at the pot, but she felt him step closer, and she...was glad. His hand slid over her forearm, caressing, as if it were his first touch - his last - and she drew in a shuddering breath. When had she last let someone see her scars, let alone  _ touch  _ them. 

“You keep your heart, quiet; closed,” he said, his words strained as he leaned closer, lifting her arm to his face as he placed a kiss; once, twice; timidly, lovingly, on her scars. “Because it’s already etched on your skin.”

And at that, Desdi turned, drawing in a staggered breath, as he kissed. When had someone looked at her scars, and it _not been in disgust._ Or _awkward pity._ She had never been sure which was worse. Her fingers twitched, and she cupped the side of his head, feeling the ridges and bumps of his skin. 

“I - I left the Milly Way for a thousand reasons,” she said, at last turning to look; to catch his gaze. And she paused, breathless, at how close he was. “My life was a mess. I hated myself; I never want to look back, only  _ away _ . Far away, and I wish -  _ I wish  _ I had taken a different path.”

She wasn’t sure why the words fell freely, but they did. Breathy and fast. The hand at his face, shifted, feeling, caressing, his soft, cool skin. Oh, he was  _ cold,  _ like her. 

“But you didn’t, you can’t. And now, you are here,” he said, squeezing her arm as he rolled his thumb along scars, committing the feel of them to memory. “And if you had taken another path, you might never have come here. And I might never have met you, Ryder.”

Desdi stared, studying his heavy lidded eyes, and leaned, leaned  _ closer.  _

“I don’t want you to heal me. I don’t need  _ fixed,”  _ she said, defensively, more than used to how  _ this  _ conversation went. But, a part of her knew that this was no ordinary conversation; Jaal, was an  _ exception.  _

Jaal laughed gently, and shook his head. “I would never do you such a disservice, Ryder. All I want to do, is  _ love _ you.”

_ Love.  _ What was that like, again? Desdi was unable to find the words, but her eyes spoke more than she; her hands, trembled; her breathing, hitched. She gazed into his eyes,  _ wanting  _ to speak;  _ wanting  _ to do something, but she was rigid, with what? Fear? Realisation? Shock? 

“But why don’t I start, with this.” Jaal reached up, caught her face with his cold hands, and toyed with the ends of her blue hair, messy from fitful sleep, and kissed. He kissed her hard, breathless, and Desdi held onto the edge of the worktop with a hand, knocking off a spoon and her datapad, with a resounding crash. 

But all she cared about, was  _ this. _


End file.
